


For Lack of Love Alone

by maybemalapert (laconicisms)



Series: A Floating Spar to Men That Sink [6]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: 2x06 AU, Aftercare, Bondage, Dress'd in a little brief authority, F/M, Femdom, Flogging, Fluffy feelings at the end (by god we need them), Food Kink, Guilt, It's the Return of Mr. Lucifer I Deserve Nothing Good Morningstar, Jealousy, Lucifer making out with a witness (ftr that's all he does), Miscommunication, Present Tense, Punishment, Self-sabotage - attempted (or would that be attempted relationship sabotage?), Suicide Attempt, The Slow Corruption of Chloe Decker (it's Maze's fault), nobody is happy and everything hurts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 11:57:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11531748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laconicisms/pseuds/maybemalapert
Summary: Many a man is making friends with death for lack of love alone.Chloe had imagined their next scene to go vastly different. So had Lucifer for that matter. Unfortunately, circumstances -- and Uriel -- conspire and Lucifer hits rock bottom. Chloe is out of her depths.





	For Lack of Love Alone

**Author's Note:**

> I've both been dreading and anticipating this one because, on the one hand, I love emotional whump like burning and there is such whump, oh my. On the other, I was very nervous about getting it right because Lucifer is being kind of a selfish dick here and Chloe does something that goes against every instinct screaming at her like, "no, don't; this is bad". She does it anyway, much to her regret.
> 
> And on the third hand, I am also glad that we're finally here since this is the darkest part of the whole series and everything else that follows should be lighter and more fun. (I mean, the show creators have still given me plenty opportunity to put my favourite characters through the wringer AHEM, but anyway). I've also been really looking forward to some _light-hearted_ kinky fun -- which will follow in either the next fic or the one after (well, atm, it looks like the latter) -- as opposed to everyone fucking each other up without meaning to. And, like, we could have been there much earlier. Thanks, Uriel. ಠ_ಠ

This is familiar: the knots in her stomach, the nausea, the dry throat. How she can't seem to swallow right, how her head feels like a million bees are buzzing around inside. It's familiar, and she hates it. 

She's seven and her dad comes home with a cast on his arm.

She's nine, and his faced is bruised as he steps through the door.

She's eleven and understands really, fully, she thinks, for the first time, that her dad's job is dangerous and she could lose him forever.

(And what does it say about her that Trixie already understands. Trixie is younger than she was.)

She's fourteen, and he's late coming home and the news anchor is saying something about a shoot-out where he usually patrols and how there's at least one dead cop, and Chloe was never one to go to church -- her parents weren't either and she just picked up the blase attitude to religion from her mom -- but this night she prays, _not him, not him. Please, not him._

Five years later, it is him, and she hadn't even heard about it until the next day because Chloe Decker, star in the making -- god, she'd been so full of herself, landing a role, she'd been such an idiot -- had been out partying all night. (Her mom had hardly been better.) And she was lucky the press hadn't caught wind of _that_.

Would have served her right. Would have served both of them right. 

But she's changed, become an adult. Became a cop, herself; no more waiting and fretting for her. (No, she is leaving that to her daughter apparently.) No more sitting around because she's the one sticking her neck out now, except of course when there are angels, and demons, fighting.

 _("You'd be a liability, Chloe. Stay." Maze is never one to pull her punches, and it burns Chloe to admit this, but she's right. This is not a fight where she can offer anything, she would be a distraction in fact, a_ civilian _.)_

So, she's at home, pacing a hole into the floor because, while Lucifer has tried to reassure her on the phone that he is only going to have a perhaps not entirely friendly _chat_ with his brother, Maze has come by to get her weapons. _("You haven't seen Amenadiel. I'll bet you anything Uriel's itching to take down another of his brothers.")_

Chloe stops pacing, reminds herself that she needs to be unpredictable. It's harder than she thought it would be. Oh sure, normally, she'd be reading a bedtime story to Trixie right now and she's not doing that because Trixie is with Dan. It makes her feel like shit because Trixie had been crying when Dan picked her up _("You promised. Mommy, you promised to read me_ Coraline _tonight.")_ because she was worried about mommy ending up dead ever since that stupid car accident (warning, it had been a warning, fucking fuck). But it's better than Trixie watching her mommy getting electrocuted or slipping and braining herself on the counter or any other of the millions of ways people can end up dead on accident.

So, she's not in bed with her daughter, reading the promised story; she's not sitting on the couch either. She's not unpacking, she's not looking at case files, she's not out with her partner, backing him up, because that's Maze's job this time. She's standing in the middle of their apartment, trying to figure out what would be the most out of character thing for her to do at her new home. 

And then her gaze falls on the door to Maze's room. She's been in there exactly once since they moved in. Just this morning, in fact. She still can't believe how smoothly and rapidly everything went. One phonecall, cut short because of the car crash even, and she and Maze had the apartment. She rather suspects Lucifer's hand in this, seeing as how he went so far as to hire movers to not only take her and Trixie's belongings to their new home while she was still in hospital getting her head looked at, but to pack everything up in the first place.

She'll need to return to the beach house at a later date, in case they've missed anything.

She'll also need to stop thinking about how strangers have gone through her underwear drawer and quite possibly her small toy box stored high at the top of the wardrobe so Trixie couldn't reach.

Alternatively, she'll need to stop contemplating how it might have been Maze. Something that is equally, if not more, likely since neither Lucifer nor his demon bartender have any concept of personal space, privacy or appropriate behaviour.

In other words, Maze should not mind Chloe walking into her room and if walking into her sex-obsessed roommate's personal living space isn't the opposite of what Chloe would usually do, she doesn't know what is.

\--

By the time Maze returns, Chloe's long decided that her new roomie probably won't mind her occupying the bed. She wasn't going to sit on the bondage chair, and there is _literally_ no other furniture. On second thought, maybe she should have sat on the bondage chair. Opposite Day, and all that.

The door bangs open, and Chloe shoots up into a sitting position. Her hand immediately goes to where her sidearm would be. Of course, it's not there because she might accidentally shoot herself with it. (Uriel has quickly become her least favorite angel.)

"Get out of my bed."

 _Out of character_ , she thinks because Maze is almost as bad when it comes to soliciting sex as Lucifer is, but there's blood trailing down the side of her face and she looks out of sorts. _Concussion?_

"Everything okay?" she asks, standing up from the bed. "Is Lucifer--"

"Take a chill pill. Lucifer's fine, and everything's taken care of." Maze drops a pair of curved daggers on the dresser by the door, then strides over to the bed and slumps down on it. It's only as she's beginning to struggle out of the top she's wearing that Chloe realizes how awkwardly Maze is holding her right hand.

The offer to help crosses her lips almost unconsciously. 

Maze pauses in her struggles and looks at her, before waving with her left. "Go on, then."

Still no innuendo.

"Taken care of, how?" Chloe asks, walking round the bed to stand in front of her. "And do _either of you_ need to see a doctor?"

"Sucker's dead," Maze grunts as she pulls first her left hand and then her head out of the shirt with Chloe's help. "And naw. I'm not a weakass mortal, and neither is he when you're not around."

Badass demon or no, Maze still sucks a breath in between her teeth when Chloe pulls the shirtsleeve off her right wrist. It's swollen and discolored, but the bruising looks maybe a day old already. Chloe focuses on these details because… unless there was someone else around, either Maze or Lucifer has just killed someone. The law abiding, responsible cop side of her is giving her death glares for not even thinking about reporting it.

On the other hand, it's not as if she could throw any stones.

_Line of duty. Vastly different._

_Supernatural beings. Even more vastly different._

"Hang on a moment," Chloe says, getting up and walking to the kitchen to get an ice pack from the freezer. It's one of the first things she put in there because being on the force means getting bruised more often than not when suspects get pesky. The icepack is pretty much the only thing in the freezer, so she doesn't have any excuse for taking as long as she does to actually see it. Except of course that her head is full of questions. Like, how can you kill an angel? And did Uriel go back to Heaven? Or did he go to Hell for threatening to kill her? Was that why the problem was 'taken care of'?

Back in Maze's room, she hands the ice pack over and gestures at the remains of her roomie's clothing in question. The bra has hooks at the fronts, so no problem there, but the demon's pants are skintight. 

Maze flashes her teeth. "Knew you wanted to get into my pants." 

Well, she must be feeling better now.

"Dream on," Chloe says, feeling relieved that things are getting back to normal -- because constant come-ons are the new normal now. Maze waves her off, and she takes a few steps back to lean against the doorframe. "Anyway, what do you mean, he's dead? How can an angel die? And where's Lucifer?"

"At Lux, where else? And dead as in _wiped out of existence_ , woman," Maze replies, looking exasperated, cranky and amused, which isn't something Chloe has ever seen anyone pull off before. "He brought along the weapon of his destruction, himself." She chuckles. "Talk about irony."

"So, Uriel's not a threat anymore," Chloe asks for the sake of clarification, trying to understand what 'wiped out of existence' means. It sounds… final. Very final.

"Nope," Maze says, popping the 'p'. "You can go back to your boring little routines, now," she adds in what is clearly a dismissal. Chloe takes the hint and gets out. 

She makes a short stop in the kitchen, getting herself a glass of water from the tap and then immediately refilling it after she drains it almost in one go despite the awful taste. She needs to restock on bottled water as soon as possible.

Back in her own room, which is still looking quite bare -- she'll need to decorate at some point -- she grabs her phone, checking for messages. There's one from Dan telling her that Trixie says goodnight -- unlikely to be true with how upset she was, but it's nice of Dan -- and another from her provider informing her of a new and exciting offer -- more bandwidth! -- just for her, which she deletes because she's perfectly happy with her current contract. 

Nothing from Lucifer. No message telling her that the danger is over or that he's okay or even a text about the promised date she still owes him.

It doesn't feel right.

She stares at the phone for a bit, trying to decide whether she should text him or call or even if she should contact him at all. If Uriel is dead, is there a body? Will someone stumble across it? Will she end up having to make evidence vanish?

_Oh fuck, what am I doing._

Definitely not calling the potential killer. It would show up in her call history and be remarked upon if there was an investigation.

The realization that Lucifer has just lost a family member washes over her suddenly, followed by the infinitely worse realization that he may have been the one to kill his brother. Chloe almost smacks herself for not realizing it sooner, but she has the excuse, at least, of being mentally, physically and emotionally exhausted. A car accident, a short night, then spending hours fearing for someone's life will do that.

Even if he hadn't been the one to do it, he'd most likely seen it happen, though.

He shouldn't be alone. No, wait. He probably isn't alone, what with running a nightclub, but someone who knows what's going on should be there with him.

She pockets the phone, grabs her gun, heads towards the door. Screw it, she thinks. If there is an investigation, she'll come up with something. Some reason for a late night visit. (Like one doesn't immediately spring to mind when Lucifer is involved.) But she needs to go to Lucifer now. He might be fine physically, but--

"Where are you going?" Maze is poking her head out of her room, half-- no, _completely_ naked.

"Lux," she says, turning away while putting on her coat.

"Uh, no. Not happening, roomie."

"That's where you're wrong," she replies and bends down to reach for her shoes. A hand lands heavily on her shoulder. Chloe reacts on instinct, grabs hold of Maze's wrist, twists around, seizes her shoulder in turn. She's almost through the whole move, a nanosecond away from hooking her leg around Maze's and putting her on the floor, when Maze all but flows out of her grip and --

Chloe hits the floor herself, breath knocked out of her, naked demon on top, like the beginning of some bad girl-on-girl x-tube vid.

Right, ninja-bartender. Who can take out a warehouse full of gang members and fights angels in her spare time.

"For fuck's sake," Maze growls into her face, hands tightening on Chloe's wrists, all but pressing them into the floor and _what was it with Chloe's reaction to that._ "Stay."

She pushes the thought aside, not too difficult since it brought about the memory of Lucifer grabbing her wrist, which got her back on the right track: getting to her partner, stat. "I'm not a dog, Maze. Also, fuck you and _get off me_."

Maze hisses at her and, _Jesus Christ, what is that?_ Half of Maze’s face is just lacking huge chunks of skin. It looks… 

It looks demonic.

Chloe bites down on her cheek to keep in the entirely inappropriate giggle, swallows down her initial response and tries to get her pulse back under control.

"Convincing argument," she deadpans as calmly as she can.

Maze leans in closer until her breath ghosts over Chloe's lips. It stinks of rotting flesh, a scent she is entirely too familiar with after years on the force and in homicide.

"Leave. Him. Be."

Yeah, like hell.

Chloe tries bucking up, but it's like being held down by a block of cement. The demon just won't budge an inch; not that it discourages Chloe from trying. Dogged stubbornness is basically her trademark.

"He doesn't want you there, human."

She freezes. "What?"

"He's just killed his dickhead of a brother before he could murder you," Maze says. "And that pile of dung he calls a mother," she adds as an afterthought. Chloe barely registers the last part, stuck on the thought that Lucifer has indeed killed his own brother. For her.

 _I'm not worth that,_ she thinks. _My life isn't worth that._

"And for some reason, he's upset about that, which is just dumb. I mean, you haven't met that dick, but he was a _dick_ ," Maze continues. Chloe is barely listening, still trying to come to terms with the sacrifice Lucifer has made.

No wonder he doesn't want to see her now. 

He must hate her.

The air's getting thin in the room. Chloe tries to take in a deep breath, gags on the smell of decay and twists her head to the side. Her shoes are still next to the door, neatly lined up and utterly out of reach.

Pointless to go anywhere now.

"You can let me up," she says through numb lips, her tongue feeling like wood in her mouth. "I'll stay."

\--

Chloe goes to bed. She should brush her teeth, but it feels like too much of a bother. She drops her phone on the bedside table and doesn't think about how easy -- how hard -- it would be to send him a text. The next day, she doesn't go to Lux nor does she text or call. Neither does he. The radio silence holds for 36 hours, and then, Sunday morning, Halloween, she gets a new case: bride killed at wedding. The message is just coming in as she's trying to make sure she won't have to explain bondage to her daughter. Or the babysitters. Or anyone who might visit.

Her demon roommate is perplexed by this. Five years on earth and both of them have yet to learn what is and isn't appropriate to have in the common area. For the record, sex swings aren't. Never even mind that they can now kiss their security deposit goodbye, Chloe thinks as she's staring up at the hook driven into the ceiling. It's not even their third day yet.

"Linda didn't mind," Maze grouses.

Chloe's phone beeps and she pulls it out to check the message.

"What?" Chloe asks distractedly, staring at her phone and the small amount of details on the case. She could take this one alone. It's not as if she hasn't worked solo before. 

"When I was bunking with her."

But if she did that, she'd be chickening out. Avoiding a necessary conversation, as she has been doing since Friday night. In other words, doing exactly what Lucifer did before.

Besides, if he doesn't want to see her, he can just ignore the message.

The thought alone hurts.

Heart hammering, she texts Lucifer the address. Her fingers feel heavy and thick, and she misspells the word 'park' three times.

"Are you even listening?" Maze waves a hand in front of her face.

Choe mentally replays the last minute or so and registers with some surprise that Maze was living with _Linda_ for a while, apparently. "Yeah," she says slowly, "but Linda doesn't have a kid. It's different."

"Oh fine then," Maze pouts. "No fun in the common area. You know, your kid is going to turn out just as boring as you if you keep going like that."

Chloe doesn't dignify that with a response, but she does twitch a little when Maze mutters under her breath that she wouldn't let that happen to Trixie. They absolutely need to set some more ground rules, but she doesn't have the time right now.

Too much on her plate.

Everything is just too much.

But she's got work to do.

Chloe shoves her phone into her back pocket and grabs her car keys. "I need to go. New case."

"Oooh," Maze croons, switching gears instantly, easily distracted by murder and mayhem as she is. "Go get them, girl."

Half out the door already, Chloe mutters back an absent-minded thanks and hightails it to her car.

\--

Lucifer arrives late to the scene, but he does come. She sees him stumble into the cordon-off area out of the corner of her eye and the cold knot that took up residence in her stomach on Friday night unravels a little. He wouldn't come if he couldn't stand the sight of her anymore, would he?

She wraps up the conversation with the groom and heads over to her partner. He looks awful. Whereas normally Lucifer is impeccably dressed and put together -- if he's wearing clothing at all -- his shirt is unbuttoned and only halfway tucked into his pants. He looks like he just fell out of bed and, she notices when she's close enough, smells like he hasn't showered in forever.

Lucifer is shoveling Devil's Fruitcake into his mouth as if he's starving and she wouldn't really care except they're at a crime scene and he might be eating evidence. She snatches the plate from his hand, and he makes a protesting noise, mouth too full to speak without spewing cake everywhere.

"That might be evidence," she tells him and focuses on his expression to see how he takes her talking to him. Whether there's anger there.

He blinks, looking vaguely surprised -- not angry, she notes with relief -- then swallows about half of what's in his mouth and mumbles, "Surely all this food can't go to waste, Detective."

A crumb falls from his lips and onto his jacket. He doesn't seem to notice. Chloe bites the inside of her cheek. Lucifer is never that… sloppy. 

"You look like hell." It slips out without thought and Lucifer stares at her for a second before bursting into giggles. 

"Good one, detective. Go with the classics," he says, in between snickers.

Right, he may not be angry, but there's something dark in his expression and he doesn't seem to be wholly there. Substance abuse?

"Are you drunk?" she asks because she cannot ask about drugs. He'd give her a truthful answer and there are too many people around.

"I wish. Pesky supernatural metabolism keeps getting in the way." He looks around and his eyes alight on the champagne flutes. "Doesn't stop me from trying though," he adds and reaches past her.

"No," she says, automatically grabbing hold of his wrist. "No drinking at work."

He stares at her hand, and she snatches it away as if burnt, feeling like she has overstepped her bounds. 

"Sorry," she mumbles, and he blinks at her again, slowly, as if his brain hasn't yet caught up with what is happening. Then he frowns, opening his mouth to speak before closing it again.

"No alcohol," he finally says and clearly that isn't what he stopped himself from saying before. "Fine. What murder are we solving today? I mean, everyone here looks dead." He looks around, grimacing at the get-up of the wedding guests. Honestly, Chloe didn't see the appeal of a zombie wedding either.

"Deceased bride, wounded groom," she replies promptly. If he cannot get drunk, does that mean he cannot get high? But why take drugs then? She's pretty sure he's done drugs in the past, but if they have no effect why did he do it? Or do they get him high and just don't last very long?

He snorts. "They got to that 'till death do us part' nonsense quickly, didn't they?"

She leaves that one alone, tangled up as it is in religion and, consequently, his family.

"The bride suffered a gunshot wound to the chest," she informs him. He interrupts before she can give him more details.

"The chest? Shooter didn't go for the head?" Lucifer sniffs. "First rule of zombie killing; everyone knows that."

Chloe closes her eyes and breathes in deeply. She's glad the groom is in the ambulance, but the bride's parents are still around here somewhere and they don't need to hear jokes about their daughter's death. Neither do the rest of the guests for that matter. She wonders if it was a good idea to invite him to the scene after all. Lucifer has never been mindful of others' feelings, but caught up in his own grief, he's even less so. It's understandable, but… She bites her lip.

"Lucifer, are you sure you want to be working this case today?" she asks. 

"What? Of course, I do," he snaps, then chuckles darkly. "Every killer must be punished, Detective." 

The words are… No, it's the tone. There's something off about what he's saying. Cold slides down her back, like an eel gliding into darkness. 

"Anyway. Interrogating witnesses next, right?" He shifts his gaze to the congregation of bridesmaids. "How about I start with these, ah, horrifying zombettes?" He doesn't wait for an answer before striding over to the women.

Chloe remains rooted to the spot for a moment, still reviewing his words and trying to make the pieces fit. Technically, _Lucifer_ killed his brother.

But Maze said he did it to save _Chloe_. Is he attributing his brother's death to her directly? In a 'his blood is on your hands' kind of way?

But he doesn't really seem angry at her.

Maybe he's hiding it?

Chloe shakes herself, ignores the fear of what all this means with regards to their relationship, and heads over where Lucifer is interrogating the bridesmaids, which seems to involve him shoving his tongue down someone's throat.

Okay.

She takes a deep breath, shoves down the pain and the jealousy as well. She clears her throat loudly, interrupting what is quickly turning into a heavy petting session. 

Even for him, even under the circumstances, that is too much.

He turns his head, but remains wrapped around the woman. "Detective! I've found you a lead!"

She can't quite hold back the sarcasm. "Where? In her mouth?" It's still bravado, though, and lacks the bite she wants it to have. Ignoring the hurt let fear take over her heart again.

"Yes, actually." He smirks at her, and trails a hand down the woman's body. "Imagine what I can find in other orifices." The zombie maid giggles.

 _This was… very in your face,_ Chloe thinks, biting her tongue. And clearly for her benefit.

He _is_ angry at her.

Nevertheless, Lucifer is being inappropriate. Unprofessional. She has every right to put a stop to it.

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" She'll have to give her damnedest to stay professional, distant. Not let her emotions seep into what she'll say to him.

Lucifer concedes to her request, but it takes a moment. The bridesmaid is wrapped around him so tightly he has to practically peel her off of him.

They find a strip of grass, equidistant from everyone around them -- not that it really gives them much privacy. 

"Look," Chloe begins, and she can do this, she _can_ , "I know that you… I know what happened, but I need you to show more professionalism here. The make-out session? Completely inappropriate." 

"When are you going to get it, Detective? Inappropriate is what I do. I'm the devil after all." His teeth flash and his body languages changes. She's suddenly, viscerally reminded of Tuesday night when he came to her, trying to scare her.

Clearly, he isn't over that.

_"I'm the devil, Detective."_

_"No one thinks I'm good."_

Including himself?

_"The thought of punishing you is anathema to me."_

Could it be that he wasn't blaming her at all? Her breath leaves her in a rush. She absently notices Lucifer frowning at her, looking as if he were trying to read her mind and failing. She's glad that this is not a power he seems to have because the inside of her head is really ugly right now as she goes over the past two days. 

He hadn't wanted to see her. Had wanted to be alone.

Alone, yes. He'd sent Maze away, as well, she was sure of it. 

But not totally alone, she doesn't think. He just hadn't wanted to deal with anyone who would conceivably know what had happened.

Fleeing from the reality. From responsibility.

_"Every killer must be punished."_

Seen in that light, his words are taking on an even more worrying meaning. 

"Detective?" His hand hovers over her shoulder. He sounds unsure, or maybe stymied. Like things aren't going according to plan.

"Gimme a sec," she replies, thinking feverishly. He's been making out with a bridesmaid right in her line of sight. He probably figured that it would make her angry, and what does Chloe Decker do when she's angry about him misbehaving? Yeah, that.

Chloe presses her lips together. They're at a crime scene, a fresh one. Police everywhere, witnesses waiting, she _can't_ take the time to talk to him now, not _properly_. Dammit all.

If he's even willing to open up to her. But maybe she could convince him to… what? Talk to his therapist? He can't tell Linda he's killed someone. Well, he could, but… 

Chloe imagines it for a moment, imagines Linda trying to decide if this is merely part of Lucifer's delusion or if he really killed someone. If he, perhaps, would do so again.

And what if he tells her all? Reveals what he is? 

It's not something that can be unknown or forgotten, and it took Chloe a considerable amount of time to wrap her head around. Linda would need time to cope with the paradigm shift before she could even begin to help Lucifer.

Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck._

She mentally reviews all the other people Lucifer could talk to. It's a short list, consisting mainly of members of his family -- and what do they think about what happened anyway? -- and _Mazikeen_. Chloe raises a hand to rub at her temple, only stopping at the last moment. She's covered up the scrape with make-up because Trixie kept staring at it like it was a headshot and Chloe was slowly bleeding out.

Her heart hurts, and so does her head, and she feels tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, and she can't break down right now, and she cannot tackle Lucifer's grief and pain right now, either. Not the place, not the time. She should have gone to him Friday night after all, or Saturday even, because clearly he wasn't blaming her. He was blaming _himself_.

"Lucifer," she starts, and doesn't know how to continue. Does she tell him it's not his fault? That he's still a good person despite what happened? Hell, she hasn't even offered her condolences yet. These are all things he needs to hear, but the words get stuck in her throat and she can't figure out how to talk around what happened so no one realizes that Lucifer has killed someone.

So Chloe does the only thing that's left, fuck appropriateness, fuck the inevitable rumors about Lucifer and her that are sure to start up, and pulls him into a hug.

He freezes.

"Get a room!" someone hollers. There's scattered laughter, from the other officers, she's sure. She grits her teeth and ignores the caller, like she has ignored every one of her coworker's comments in the past. Pretends she doesn't hear.

She can't ignore her partner, though.

"What an excellent suggestion," Lucifer comments, voice cracking in the middle. He still hasn't moved, remaining stiff as a board, and it's so awkward to keep holding on. She can hear him swallowing, once, twice, before clearing his throat. "How about it, Detective?" Contrary to his words, he puts his hands on her shoulders and pushes her back, gently. "You, me. That table over there?"

His body fairly screams, 'Pain, and suffering, and help me,' but she releases him, respects that he does not want comfort right now. Stupid idea, really. She understands, she hadn't wanted to be hugged at her dad's funeral either, too busy holding all the pieces of herself inside so they wouldn't leak out in painful sobs.

Normalcy is what he desires right now, so she gives the expected answer, the words feeling hollow. "In your dreams."

He forces out a chuckle. "My dreams about you are much better than this, Detective."

A voice interrupts them before she can reply. "Can I talk to you, Chloe?" She turns to see Dan standing behind her, eyebrows raised. 

"Always the untimely interruptions, Detective Douche," Lucifer says with a sigh that sounds very fake. "Well, I'll let you handle whatever inconsequential concerns he has, Detective. Excuse me." He walks off and Chloe stares after him until Dan speaks up again. He asks about Lucifer's behavior, but she brushes him off, darkly amused at the irony of attempting to throw Dan off the scent of a murder he must not know about.

Karma or coincidence?

Or Lucifer's dad's way of trying to tell her something?

\--

She doesn't find the time to have that conversation, not until it's almost too late. 

\--

Working with Lucifer is really effective. She's known that, but it really hits her today when she's trying to find a quiet moment to at least ask him to talk to _someone_.

They arrived at the crime scene in different cars, so they don't share a vehicle on the way to the precinct either. There, she's busy collating the evidence, and then she's busy watching Lucifer convince the bride's ex to confess.

She doesn't think it's her imagination that he's being a lot more ruthless about it than he usually is, jaw tight and voice low and what looks like fire burning in his eyes.

She fears he is projecting again. His intensity, his anger at their potential killer makes her fear for him.

Twice she pulls him back when he starts to verbally eviscerate the suspect. By the end, the young man is close to tears. And most likely innocent.

It doesn't stop there. She spends the rest of the day reigning in Lucifer's behavior, running herself ragged trying to mitigate the effects of every stunt he pulls. She'd say that the only normal things about him today are his sexual innuendos, but even those are off somehow. More frequent, she thinks. It makes her realize that he actually seems to have been making an effort to curb them around her.

They're in the middle of talking to a witness, an ice-cream vendor who might have seen their perp, when a shot rings out and they suddenly have a second victim almost literally dropping into their laps. Lucifer hares off after him, ignoring her shout to fucking _wait_ for her -- he doesn't have a weapon, he's mortal when she's around; she doesn't voice this, of course -- and she's almost wheezing by the time she catches up to him on the rooftop their shooter has fired from.

He's long gone, and for a moment she's glad because while Lucifer isn't helpless, she knows he can be hurt, and then the realization that the guy has a fucking _list_ settles in.

Back at the precinct, Lucifer breaks into the vending machine in full sight of every officer present. She means to corner him then, but then Trixie is calling because today is Halloween and she and Dan have a promise to fulfill. 

They're not gonna make it.

She ends up asking Maze, the demon ninja bartender, to take her daughter trick-or-treating, because the babysitter got scared off by her roommate's sex toy collection, and quietly despairs over what her life has become.

She obviously fails to talk to Lucifer in private.

Then they're at the hospital that employs their second vic's wife as well as the groom and Lucifer's handing back Dan's badge and gun and giving her the -- illegally obtained -- files that chronic malpractice suits leveled at the hospital.

He's trying so hard to provoke her by blatantly flaunting the rules. 

And she's one hundred percent sure she knows what he wants her to do. 

She's just equally sure that _talking to a professional_ is what he should be doing instead.

If that were possible.

Dan is giving her a look, weighed down by a thousand unspoken words. She's told him she could handle Lucifer, but it's getting increasingly more obvious that she can't. Not completely.

"Lucifer," she says with a sigh. But what is she supposed to say now? It's not like he doesn't know that he shouldn't have impersonated a police officer. "We'll need to return these," she continues instead, waving the files in his face.

"Oh come now, Detective, after all that trouble I've gone to?"

Dan clears his throat. "Hate to agree with him, but he's right, Chloe."

Oh great, now both of them are ignoring protocol. 

"I don't agree with what he did," Dan continues, throwing a dark look in Lucifer's direction, "but there's still a killer out there, and these files might be the keys to stopping him before he shoots at the life partners of whoever else is involved in these suits."

And well, it's a convincing argument.

Her dad's rolling around in his grave, she's sure.

They borrow the files for a bit. It's the right choice even if it the illegal and unethical one because they only just manage to figure out who the next victim is in the nick of time. Had they waited for a warrant, one or possibly even two people might be dead.

As it is, no one's dead, though Lucifer certainly had been trying to get himself shot, taunting the shooter, all but begging him to take the shot and Lucifer's life with it. And he would have died. Chloe was right there, making him vulnerable, making him mortal, and--

"Please," she says as the shooter is being led away by Dan, "Lucifer, talk to me. Or to someone else. _Anyone._ "

He looks at her and she knows he's going to brush her off and she mustn't let him. "Please," she says again, coming closer, grabbing his arm -- what a difference to just this morning --"Lucifer, you're scaring me."

His eyes go wide and he draws in a sharp breath, and shit. He's going to misunderstand. "I mean that I'm scared for you," she clarifies, and then whispers, urgently, her grip on his arm tightening and he's not pulling away. "Don't use me to kill yourself." She swallows. "Don't do this to me, please."

He breaks off eye-contact, looks at the floor. "Fine," he says, pulling away from her. She lets him go reluctantly. "I'll talk to… someone. Linda." He flashes a grin at her, but it doesn't touch his eyes. "What else am I paying her for?"

Good, but also not. There's no way to know what Linda will make of Lucifer talking about killing an angel.

He's turning to leave and she blurts, "I think you should tell her." Linda would manage to cope, she thinks. Chloe managed, and Chloe is so far from zen it isn't even funny, and an atheist to boot. 

Lucier pauses, looks back at her, confused. "About who you are," she adds. "Otherwise, she won't be able to understand or she'll end up…" she trails off again, trying to pick the right words, words that don't include a confession to being an accomplice to murder in a place crawling with police. "With a false impression," she finally settles on.

Lucifer licks his lips. He looks unconvinced. "I will take that under advisement, Detective."

It's the last she hears from him for several hours. It certainly doesn't fill her with a lot of confidence regarding whether or not she is going to have to come by Linda's place and do breathing exercises with her.

She plans accordingly.

She lets most of the paperwork lie for another day and spends a couple of hours with Trixie, because she feels guilty about not being with her today, and ends up being treated to Trixie's scarily accurate description of Maze's demon face.

On the plus side, her daughter isn't traumatized. In fact, she's utterly delighted at Maze's cool costume.

On the downside, she's utterly delighted at _Maze's cool costume._

Ground rules, Chloe thinks. Stat.

She leaves Trixie happily going through her spoils at the kitchen counter and knocks on Maze's door. There's a pause.

"Are you a non-squeamish adult?" Maze shouts from the inside, and. Well. It is better than her scaring off babysitters or inadvertently giving Trixie a comprehensive knowledge of sex toys, she supposes.

"It's me," Chloe says.

"So, no," comes Maze's reply. 

"I'm not squeamish," Chloe protests, opening the door. Maze is sitting in the middle of the bed, surrounded by various paddles, crops, and gags, and frowning at what, upon closer inspection, turns out to be a humbler. The door to her wardrobe is open, revealing a fair amount of bondage gear, as well. Chloe quickly shuts the door behind her and leans against it.

"Yay or nay?" Maze asks, waving the humbler in her direction. 

Chloe, who is not squeamish and who is an adult who has done very, _very_ adult things in the past, thank you very much, decides to play along. "Who for?"

Besides, Maze seems to be trying, at least, to keep the X-rated stuff away from Trixie and the babysitters now. Nagging her about it more would probably be counterproductive.

Compromise is the foundation of every relationship, and that includes roommates.

"Oh, no one specific," Maze says, tossing the the toy from one hand to the other. "I just love using it on guys, especially when they're in costumes. Fucking hilarious."

"So, where's the problem?" Chloe asks.

Maze stops tossing the humbler and points it at a small leather rucksack at her feet which Chloe hasn't noticed in the mess. It looks practically full to bursting. "Not enough room. Would need to throw out something else."

"Bigger rucksack?"

"Nah, the only other one I got doesn't go with the costume."

Chloe purses her lips and ignores the surrealness of the situation. "What could you do without?"

Maze wrinkles her nose. "Like, none of'em, actually. These are all my favs." She is silent for a few moments before heaving a deep sigh. "Ugh. Okay. The paddle it is."

While Maze starts repacking her toy bag for whatever party she ends up at tonight, Chloe decides to broach the topic of Maze revealing herself to Trixie.

"So," she begins, keeping her tone as neutral as possible, "Trixie told me about that cool costume you showed her."

Maze stills for a second before continuing to pull out the contents of her rucksack. Her voice is decidedly nonchalant when she says, "Yeah?"

Chloe mimics her. "You weren't worried that Trixie might be, you know, afraid?"

There's a small delay before Maze answers, "Nah. She's a tough one." She puts the paddle she has just freed to the side and adds, "Kinda like her mom."

Flattery. Wow.

She must actually have been worried about Trixie not taking well to seeing a demon. Either that or about Chloe's reaction, which means she'd known that it wasn't a good idea.

"In the future, I'd appreciate it if you told me, as her mother, before risking Trixie figuring out that you're actually a demon."

Maze groans and rolls her eyes. "Fine," she huffs.

"Especially," Chloe continues, "as it took me a while to come to terms with the existence of the supernatural and I'd like it if I knew beforehand that I'll need to help her cope with that."

"I got it, okay," Maze snaps, looking up from her rucksack and glaring. "Kid gloves for the kid."

Chloe meets and holds her gaze, waiting until the glare fades a little before saying, "Thank you."

"Whatever," Maze grumbles and turns back to her preparations. It's probably a good idea to extend another olive branch. 

"You going to a dungeon party?"

Maze shrugs, but stops frowning. "Later on, yeah."

"Well, have fun."

"Oh, I will." It's not quite as flirty or salacious as usually, but Chloe will take it.

She is almost out the door before another thought occurs to her. Linda and Maze are… acquaintances. Maybe even friends.

Chloe closes the door once more. "Have you heard from Linda today?"

Maze finishes putting in a ballgag on top and pulls the strings of the rucksack taut. "No, why?"

"Lucifer said he'd talk to her about what happened with Uriel." It occurs to her belatedly that Maze should be informed of what has happened today. "He's… not fine, Maze."

Maze gives her a look that says, 'No, really?'

Chloe tries to find the words to impart this particular piece of information in a sensitive way, but all the things she's learned in her training suddenly seem inadequate. She decides to be blunt. Maze is a blunt type of person, demon, anyway. 

"He tried to kill himself today," she says softly.

Maze goes stock still, then lets out a barrage of curses and inhuman snarls. "Why haven't you said so before?"

Because she's an idiot, clearly. 

Maze doesn't wait for an answer. "You said he went to see Linda?"

She nods.

"Right. I'll track him down." She leaves the rucksack where it is and stands up to stalk towards Chloe and the door. Chloe jumps out of the way as Maze almost pulls the door off its hinges.

"Let me know when you find him," she calls after. 

Maze waves a hand and leaves.

Right. With nothing more to do and a demon on the case, Chloe turns her attention back to Trixie who is staring in the direction Maze has just left in with big eyes. 

"Did you two have a fight?"

"No, monkey," Chloe replies, weighing the pros and cons of telling Trixie what is going on. On the one hand, Trixie is concerned enough about the adults in her life as it is. On the other… it might be better for her to stay with Dan tonight, so Chloe will be free to answer any emergency calls that may come up. "We're just a bit worried about Lucifer. He's very unhappy at the moment."

"What's he unhappy about?"

Chloe sits down next to her daughter and takes her hands into hers. "Lucifer is sad because his brother died." No need to tell her how.

"Oh," Trixie says. Then she pulls her hands out of Chloe's and grabs a couple of KitKat bars from her hoard. "Here, give those to him? Chocolate always cheers _me_ up." She frowns. "Or you could pour him a drink, that's what Maze did when you and grandma were arguing."

Right, that time when Trixie had taken an Uber to Lux. Chloe made a mental note to remind Maze not to give her daughter -- or any child -- alcohol. 

She should probably start writing this stuff down somewhere, with the amount of things that come up. Maybe invest in a notebook, something with, oh maybe 300 blank pages at the rate they are going.

Make that two. One for Lucifer, and one for Maze.

"Thank you, baby," she says, planning to turn down the offer of chocolate in Lucifer's stead, but then hesitates. Trixie cares about Lucifer, and this is the only way she knows how to cheer him up. 

Besides, Lucifer has a sweet tooth the size of the Sugarloaf Mountain. For all she knows, it might actually help… some. She takes the proffered candy, gives Trixie a smooch and calls Dan.

"Admit it," Dan says 45 minutes later when she opens the door to let him in, "you just don't want to deal with Trixie on a sugar high."

"Guilty as charged, officer," she quips, trying to hide the worry that has worked its way to the forefront of her mind again. Trixie takes this moment to stumble out of her room, laden down by her overnight bag, another bag that looks like it might contain more clothes, her favourite stuffed dog, which goes by the name of Rusty for the red-brownish color, her toy lightsaber, and a plastic bag filled with her Halloween candy.

"Do you really need all that?" Dan asks, pulling a face. 

"Almost," Trixie replies before thrusting the dog towards Chloe. "For Lucifer, but he needs to give him back when he feels better."

Chloe accepts the dog with a strange sense of pride in her daughter. She has never let it out of her sight before. "I'll tell him. Thank you."

Dan lets out a quiet sigh beside her, but refrains from commenting. He grabs two of Trixie's bags and they all say goodbye to each other. Trixie gets a kiss, and then they're out the door and Chloe is alone.

It doesn't even take thirty seconds for her to pull out her phone and check for messages. She is that high strung. There is nothing, however, and she has a brief battle with herself before succumbing to her worry.

She tries to reach Linda first, but the therapist doesn't answer her phone. Chloe tries to console herself with that fact Linda couldn't actually tell her anything. Patient confidentiality. Maze is next, but her call goes to voicemail, so she sends a quick text to the demon, and then another to Lucifer.

In retrospect, she shouldn't have let him go. She should have… sat on him or knocked him out and delivered him to his therapist in hogtie. 

No. No, he is an adult.

A suicidal adult.

An _immortal_ , suicidal--

She is going to drive herself insane if she keeps that up. 

The only comfort she has, small as it is, is that he is not in her vicinity, and so not in danger of dying.

That thought reassures her only until she remembers that Uriel had apparently brought a weapon to earth that could kill an angel.

And Lucifer likely knows exactly where it is.

Unable to keep sitting still, she looks around for something to do to take her mind off things but comes up blank, which is weird because there is always something to do. Like the paperwork, which she has left at work and doesn't have the brainpower to handle right now, anyway.

Well, there's still some unpacking to be done; she could do that. Maybe.

Half an hour later, there have been absolutely no messages, and Chloe can't stand it any longer. She grabs her keys and heads over to Lux.

He isn't there. Neither is Maze.

She drives by Linda's office next, because she's desperate, but no one answers when she knocks and the door is locked. She doesn't know where Linda lives, so she gives that up for the moment. She tries the beach where he and Maze first arrived next, but it turns out to be a bust, too. Next she tries finding the ice vendor they've been at earlier today since Lucifer is such a fan, but -- rather unsurprisingly, considering that the owner was murdered just half a day ago -- it's closed. 

She admits to herself that she's just grasping at straws by now.

She makes a brief stop to buy water and one or two other things, ending up with about ten times as much shit as she wanted to buy, then heads back home. When she gets back to her apartment, she discovers to her dismay that Maze has been by while she was out. There's a piece of paper pinned to Chloe's door with a knife -- just, who does that? -- telling her that Maze has, 'found the selfish asshole,' and that he is still alive, which is not at all reassuring considering that the letters are jagged and angry, the paper torn not only where the blade pierced it but at the edges of the letters, as well. 

Maze is definitely angry about something to do with Lucifer. For all Chloe knows he's tried to kill himself again and Maze only just got to him in time. 

She really needs more information, so she can _stop worrying_.

Chloe takes a quick peek inside Maze's room to confirm that the demon isn't just lying on the bed and sulking, and finds that not only is Maze gone, but she has taken her little rucksack along, too. 

She shoots off another round of messages, to Maze, to Lucifer, to Linda, puts away the groceries, and then sits down in her still very new and unfamiliar room and tries to figure out where each of them might be. 

Linda might be at home. Maybe. Or she might have gone for a drink or some late-night yoga (for a broad definition of yoga). Maze is probably at a Halloween party, or she could be letting off steam somewhere, or maybe both.

Lucifer could be _anywhere_.

Anywhere that isn't Lux, the beach, or the ice vendor. Or maybe by now he's back at the club. Who knows.

Well, his dad obviously does. Chloe briefly wonders if she should try to get a message to god, try _to pray_ , but then shudders at the thought of actually getting an answer.

There's another option, though. One she hasn't considered yet. Amenadiel, as an angel, might be able to find Lucifer, too. She doesn't have his phone number -- if he even has a phone -- but maybe he's in the phone book?

_Under what? 'A' like angel of the lord?_

Her phone dings and she almost drops it in her hurry to read the message. She all but sags in relief when she sees Lucifer's name even if his reply is kinda brief: 'yes' to her question of whether he was still alive, and 'no need' to her remark that she was _worried_. 

_[Where are you?]_ , she texts back, but he doesn't answer. 

Maze remains conspicuously silent, as well. 

Chloe doesn't receive any more messages that night. At half past eleven, she gives up hoping and starts getting ready for bed. It's closing in on 1 a.m. when she finally falls asleep. It's an hour later when she's woken up by the sound of an intruder.

\--

_He really needs to stop breaking into places._

Heart hammering, Chloe lowers her weapon and flips on the light switch to reveal Lucifer in all his--

Fuck. 

"Did you fall into a ditch?" bursts out of her when she notices the dirt on his face and clothes. 

He blinks at her. "No?" Then, seemingly noticing the way he looks for the first time, if the surprise on his face is anything to go by as he glances down at himself, "I stepped off the roof. At my penthouse."

No.

Fear slams into her so hard she almost drops her gun.

She knows he's immortal, she knows it, but _dropping down a fuckton of floors, to the ground, and he doesn't have wings, and why would he do that, is he insane?_

But she knows why.

_"Just shoot me right now. Please. Mr. Sniper, sir."_

Her lip quivers, and she presses her hand to her mouth, almost bursts into tears right then and there. So the talk with Linda didn't help. Or maybe he hadn't even gone, maybe that is what Maze is so upset about. 

Or maybe she saw him _stepping off the balcony_.

"Are you hurt?" she forces out between her fingers. Her lungs feel like they are being squeezed through a tube.

He shakes his head. "Hurt my spine a bit, but it's all healed up now."

There's a high-pitched, mewling sound.

It's coming from her.

Lucifer's eyes are wide. "Detective--"

"Take off your clothes," she rasps.

He opens his mouth, and she swears if he makes a come-on right now she will punch him. It shows on her face, she's sure, because he visibly hesitates before saying, "Really, Detective. I'm fine. Immortal, remember?"

"Clothes," she demands a second time, barely able to get the word out at all. 

He stares at her for another second before taking off his suit jacket and quickly opening the buttons on his shirt. His fingers are nimble. It's clear he's had a lot of practice getting out of his clothes fast. He puts both articles on the counter and turns around unasked.

Chloe steps closer and lays her gun next to his clothes. She takes a moment to try and push some oxygen back into her lungs, then turns her focus on him. His back _looks_ fine. Not a scratch on it. She puts her shaking hands on his skin, feels for the spinal column, runs her hands all over his back except where the scars still stand out prominently. There is nothing wrong with it as far as she can tell.

Well, she's not a doctor, but he's also not flinching away in pain or anything. "It's really okay?" she asks, a little bit of air returning to her lungs of its own volition. Her head feels woozy. "No other injuries?"

"One hundred percent fine," Lucifer replies, turning back towards her.

"You promise?" She asks, and he nods.

Good.

_Good._

She pulls back her arm back and slaps him as hard as she can.

" _You asshole._ "

She's breathing harshly, as if she's just finished sprinting after some perp leading her on a merry chase. Her hand stings and Lucifer's cheek must sting worse, but he takes it without comment. His head is still angled to the side from the force of her blow, and he's touching the place where she's hit him lightly. It's only because she's staring at him as if he'd vanish into thin air if she didn't -- and, fuck, she sympathizes with Trixie so much, right now -- that she sees the look on his face that he hides quickly when he notices her noticing. 

Satisfaction.

Hell.

Of course, looking back at his behavior today, it actually shouldn't have come as a surprise. He clearly wants to be punished, has been acting out all day in her presence, in fact, trying to provoke her.

But this, the balcony. This is bad. Bad like 'shoot me, please,' bad.

She wants to slap him again.

Meanwhile Lucifer is gazing at her as if she were the only thing keeping him alive. His lips are pressed together as if he needs to hold back words -- probably does -- but his eyes are doing plenty of talking, and all of it is a plea. For help.

For help of a very specific, not actually all that helpful kind.

Chloe is not equipped to deal with this, not at all. Oh, she understands about exorcising your demons -- hah, _haha, demons_ \-- she understands feeling like you need to be punished for something before you can feel forgiven, but this goes beyond what she can handle, what anyone not trained as a professional therapist can handle. 

"Have you talked to Linda?"

He laughs, a short bark. "Yes." Some sort of expression crosses his face, gone too quickly for her to interpret. "She's rather useless now."

Chloe frowns. That sounds as if he did tell Linda what he is. Is she grappling with the knowledge right now as Chloe has been before? She bites her lip. Probably. 

Chloe makes a mental note to pursue this later. Right now, though… Right now, he's still looking at her as if he she was the last lifeline he might get hold of. 

Fuck.

Her partner is dancing on the edge of the precipice, and if she doesn't do this she's afraid he will not seek help elsewhere -- imagine the devil calling the suicide hotline -- will seek punishment elsewhere and it will be permanent and, most of all, lethal. She doesn't like being in this situation, and if she thought that he was fully conscious of what he was asking of her, if he'd actually thought it through that he wanted her to use her to actually hurt himself -- and this was a shitty thing to do to a friend -- no, worse, that he wants her to actively punish him for his sins. Chloe likes causing pain, she's not so secretly sadistic, but this isn't fun and games. This is Lucifer trying to make her an accessory to self-harm, at best.

If he were aware of what he was asking of her, but he's not. Not really, she doesn't think. She's sure he's not thinking of anything but the feeling of guilt that's eating him up and driving him to attempt to commit suicide _twice_ in one day. 

Or recreate his Fall? The one that sent him down to _hell_ , the one which he's resented his dad for. Chloe's not a psychologist, but even she can tell that there's something deeply fucked up going on there. 

He needs to feel he's being punished, and it needs to be harsh enough that he won't try to punish himself at least until she can get him to talk to Linda. As soon as Linda can talk to him, that is. 

A stopgap, she thinks. A short term fix. She could… do that. She didn't want to, didn't want to be used by him like this, but she could do it. To keep him safe from himself.

"Okay," she says at last.

_Please, to whoever is listening, let this be the right thing._

And let her find a way to get them both through this relatively unharmed. Emotionally, at least. Physically, too. Preferably.

Up to a point, anyway.

"Okay?" he echoes, and she's going to get this out in the open. Lay it out for-- no. Have him lay it out for her. This time she will not make it easy for him. He's not doing her that kind of courtesy either, after all.

"What you came here for," she says, ignoring the sense of deja vu. "I'll do it. But we'll do it by my rules. So, spell it out for me: what is it that you actually want?"

He licks his lips, catches his tongue between them. "I want," he says, stops, starts again. "I deserve to be punished."

Not what she asked.

"No," she says, tone harsher than she means to, but fuck it. She'll play the part. The whole of it. 

Chloe steps into his personal space, catches his gaze. "What is that you _desire_?"

He stumbles back, face shocked. "Detective--"

She follows, crowds him again. "Answer me."

At first, she thinks he's not going to. He's looking at her as if he's seeing her for the first time, or maybe as if he's finally realizing that he's essentially been trying to turn her into his personal devil.

But then he looks down, closes his eyes, his mouth twisting in pain. "Please," he says, and his voice goes softer till she has to strain to hear him even as close to him as she is. "Please, punish me."

The weight of it settles onto her shoulders. She doesn't feel at all powerful this time. That might come, but she doubts it. This isn't about her.

It's about Lucifer, her partner, who really, really needs her to be the instrument of his penance right now.

She puts her right hand on his cheek, the one she's slapped earlier. He makes a noise but doesn't look up, doesn't even open his eyes.

"First of all," she says, grabbing his chin, pulls so he's bending over a little. Damn him for being so tall. "I'll be calling the shots. You'll take your punishment in any form I decide on."

She can feel his throat moving as he swallows, breathes a soft, "Yes."

"Secondly, aftercare. That's my call, as well," she continues. "And that includes how long it takes and when you can leave." She pauses. 

His jaw tightens and his eyes flash open, but he does not protest even though she's pretty sure he's thinking about it. "I want your word on it," she says.

He's struggling with himself, she can tell, but it doesn't take as long as she expected. "Fine," he hisses out finally. "You have it."

"Lastly," she says, "I'm not doing this without a safeword for either of us." His expression turns mulish. Of course, it would. Being able to abort is not what he's here for after all.

"Understood," he grits out, and she knows he's just resolved not to use his.

One more reason why this is a bad idea.

Finally, she releases his chin and he straightens up immediately.

Now that they're on the same page, more or less, she needs to figure out how to proceed, and as happens when she feels stumped in her private life, she falls back on her training. Probably not the kind of situation her instructors have ever considered, she thinks with something that barely resembles amusement, emotions too fraught for any kind of light-heartedness.

"Tell me what happened," she says, sitting down on one of the chairs at the counter, clearing her throat as he moves towards another. He stops, clenches a hand, but remains standing.

"You said Maze told you," he retorts. 

"I want to hear it from you," she says. "Think of it as a confession." 

It will give her time to think, to plan. More importantly she needs to know what happened, exactly. Where to tread carefully, where to poke, though she has a fairly good idea already. It is a good thing, too, she thinks in retrospect. Had she thought about what she'd asked of him before she did so, she might not have put him through it. 

But she knows that he doesn't want kindness, doesn't want consideration. Showing too much of it at the beginning and he will not believe himself to be absolved later. He certainly won't either if he believes she doesn't have the whole picture.

His eyes are blazing as he glares at her. "You want me kneeling, too, _Sister_?"

Not that kind of confession, she wants to say, confused that this is where his mind went to. She's a police officer, he's her partner. Interrogation should have been his first thought.

On the other hand, he's the devil, god is his father, and he… has done something he believes he should be punished for.

Be in hell for.

Chloe lets out a slow breath. She needs to be harsh, but not too much so. It is a fine line to walk. 

"Did you expect this to be easy, Lucifer?"

His glare intensifies and she swears that his eyes are changing color, but then he stops abruptly, growls -- not at her, she doesn't think, more at himself -- and shakes his head.

As Lucifer begins to lay out his evening, starting when he left her at her new apartment with the instruction to do the opposite of what she'd normally do, Chloe keeps half her attention on him, only occasionally asking for clarification, and uses the other half to try and figure out what to do now.

Pain is definitely going to be a part of it, no way around that really even if she weren't a sadist. That is not what he'll have trouble with, though. No, that will come after.

"Then Maze showed up." So far his words have flown easily, easier than they did when he confessed to killing Uriel, but now he hesitates more. Words coming in small bursts. Agitation clear in his voice, his gestures. "She attacked him. They fought, and he broke her wrist." His mouth twists in a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Not that it stopped her, but. He knocked her out." He starts to fidget more, right hand going to his left wrist where his cuffs would be if he weren't half-naked, then aborting the motion. "Angels can't kill humans -- directly -- but demons are another matter. Or anyone not human. Dad's rules."

So he was afraid for Maze's life, too, as well as hers and his mother's if Maze is to be believed.

Her eyes are drawn back to his wrists as he begins to wring his hands. She'll bind them, she thinks. Give him something to struggle against.

"Go on," she prompts eventually when the silence has stretched for a while. He swallows again, audibly.

"He brought Azrael's Blade. He… he was going to use it to kill Mum, wipe her out of existence."

No great loss, is Chloe's first thought before she gets ahold of herself. She wouldn't want anyone to speak that way about her mom, either, and Lucifer clearly loves his mother.

"He lost it, during the fight. And he was standing there, with his finger on the proverbial gun." He mimes a finger pointing down, hovering -- as she understood it -- over a key on an organ. "And I… picked up the Blade and..." 

And killed Uriel, she mentally finishes as Lucifer looks away. It occurs to her that throughout his confession, Lucifer has never once mentioned his brother's name. Distancing himself from the victim. Distancing himself from the act itself, too, since he hasn't actually said he'd killed his brother. To save her, and his mom, and Maze. Three people whose lives were on the line. It was, she thinks, justifiable.

Something tickles at the back of Chloe's mind and she frowns. Lucifer said earlier that he'd summoned Uriel to an abandoned church -- by praying, apparently, and she briefly wonders if you needed to be an angel, or devil, for that to work -- and that Uriel had shown up and threatened her life with his pattern interpretation-slash-manipulation powers.

Funny, though, how there was something in that church that Lucifer had picked out, which Uriel could use. The dog, the skateboard -- she'd looked into how the dog had gotten out in the first place because Lucifer had kept on insisting his brother was to blame -- had been more immediate, a more obvious connection from point A to point B.

Bluffing, Chloe decides. Uriel had been bluffing, about this at least.

She cannot, must not, ever tell Lucifer that.

"I see," she says, at last, and Lucifer twitches. They both know it's time. Chloe's eyes go upward, to the hook Maze installed earlier, and Lucifer follows her gaze. "Ah," he breathes out, face blanking.

"Problem?" she asks coolly while feeling a little like a hypocrite. He wordlessly shakes his head. She gets off the chair and heads towards Maze room. She doesn't think the demon will mind her borrowing some rope, or if she did Chloe could buy her some new one, but she really hopes it doesn't come to that. If Chloe has her way, Maze won't even hear of this because the demon would never let her live it down. Worse, she'd reinstall the sex swing and Chloe would not be able to protest any longer. Stones. Glass houses.

Focused on finding the rope in Maze's wardrobe, she almost misses the suspension cuffs, which will be easier on his wrists, supernatural healing or no. Well, she's already misappropriating the rope, might as well go big. There are no safety scissors, though, but she still has a pair in her own room. 

Back in the common area, she finds Lucifer leaning against the wall, arms crossed and head angled upwards to stare at the hook. She has some experience with knotwork, but she's sure that he has more, so she hands him the rope and points. "Make yourself useful."

While he hauls over the small side table and clambers onto it -- "Shoes off," she admonishes -- Chloe remembers another question that needs to be cleared up first: does she need to avoid his scars entirely, or not. "You said last time that you didn't want me to examine your scars," she begins.

He pauses while untying his shoelaces. "I retract that one," he finally says. "All of them. Do what you please."

Oh great, no limits. Just what she wants. "Lucifer--"

"Your call, remember," he gripes, standing up straight on the table.

Fucking screw him. "Yes, I do. The question is, do _you_?"

He's looking down at her from on high, the picture of arrogance, and she briefly regrets positioning him like that. She needs to take back control of the situation. 

"You want to use me to punish yourself," she says, voice low and eyes narrowed and trying to keep her temper in check. "And I don't like that. But I'm going to do it, because we're partners and we're friends and I can tell that you need something. That doesn't mean you're calling the shots. That's me. I'm doing that, and I get to decide how much to fuck you over since _I_ will be the one to pick up the fucking pieces afterwards." She pauses, makes sure he's really listening. "So, can I take a flogger to your back or-- "

"A flogger," he echoes, sounding incredulous, as if no one competent had ever taken one to his back. Or as if he has forgotten that he is vulnerable around her. "Maze has much b--"

"I'm sure she does," Chloe interrupts him in turn. If she didn't need him to be able to speak, she'd put a gag on him, seriously. "Anything else you'd like to pick out according to your preferences?"

He works his jaw for a bit then looks away, breaking eye contact. "No."

When it looks like this is all he will say, she prompts, "Still waiting for your answer."

He's glaring at her again. "Yes," he grits out. "You can." It's clear he wants to say more, but he's keeping quiet and it's enough for now.

"Good," she says. "Then get back to work."

He threads the rope through the hook, finally, then stops again. Closes his eyes and exhales. "How high do you want me?"

"Tiptoes," she replies, watching his body language. He's oscillated back from anger into something approaching acceptance again. Though calling it resignation would probably be more accurate. Lucifer has mood swings at the best of times. This is not even close to the best of times, so she prepares for the anger to return at any given moment. Probably as soon as he is faced with something else he doesn't like.

"I'll need the cuffs; it'll be easier to get the length right."

Oh, right. She tosses him the cuffs and watches as he climbs down, stands on tiptoe, and then climbs up again, proceeding to expertly tie the rope around the D-rings and the hook. 

She leaves him to his work and goes into her own room. Gets her toybox from the top of the wardrobe and checks the contents. Everything's where she left it, floggers and safety scissors included, and in good condition. Chloe takes care of her things even if she hasn't been able to use them in a while. Practices, too, if she has a moment, which is rare, but now she's glad for it.

She closes the box, then hesitates, eyes going to her wardrobe. Asks herself if a change of clothing is in order, what with wearing nothing more than her PJs. On the other hand, she feels comfortable like this and with the amount of exercise she's about to engage in, comfortable and cool is the way to go.

Mind made up, she carries the box into the common area and deposits it on the counter before taking a look at Lucifer's handiwork. The rope's long and he's looped it several times, so it'll hold his weight better. The cuffs are dangling from it, and Lucifer's currently standing on tiptoe, right arm raised and hand parallel to the rope. 

The height looks about right to her, but he's frowning. Before she can stop him, he's back up on the table, fiddling with the knots again.

She watches him as he gets back down, testing his height against the cuffs again and looking much happier. From what she can see, there's no real difference. Well, maybe something like a tenth of an inch or so, but she shouldn't be surprised that he's as perfectionist about this as he is about his appearance.

Speaking of. "Take off the rest of it," she commands, waving a hand at his pants and sock-clad feet. He complies without comment.

It's a testament to the weirdness of her life that, as with Maze, she finds his lack of innuendo worrying. When he's completely nude -- and Lucifer is nude, not naked, and there's a difference there -- she pushes a chair at him, says, "Up you go then," and hops onto the table as he climbs on the chair and obligingly raises his arms. She stands, for once taller than he is, and reaches for his right hand.

His skin is cold. That's a first. He usually runs hot. She closes the cuff around his wrist, checks that it's neither too tight nor too loose, and does the same with the other. Then she gets off the table and pushes it back, out of the way but within easy reach in case she needs to climb up quickly in an emergency.

"Step down."

She puts a hand on his hip, grip tight rather than gentle, and guides him down. He wobbles a little, almost upending the chair, but catches himself in time. She pushes him into place, until he's facing away from her completely and steps back, pulling the chair with her. He is balancing on his toes, and if he were a normal human, he would tire quickly. She wonders how his supernatural strength will play into this, or if he will feel the strain after all because of her proximity, if his 'incredible stamina' will fail him. Her eyes are drawn to the scars where he had Maze cut off his wings. They stand out starkly against his skin and she wonders at their sensitivity. They might be numb, but… Chloe bites her lip. Back when she first saw them, she'd barely touched them at all -- just a brush of her fingertips -- before Lucifer caught her hand.

More sensitive, she thinks. At least the surrounding area. Add to that that his arms are holding most of weight and the skin is stretched tight, yeah. This will be painful.

"Detective?" Not impatient, but unsure. His breathing's sped up a little as well. 

Perfect time to start then. She reaches for her flogger, the thuddy one. She has no idea which kind of sensation he prefers, or detests. She may need to change them up, but this is one's her favorite. So. Besides, she's not even sure he knows either, considering how he doesn't really seem to feel pain when she's not around. Well, not unless he's being punched by one of his siblings, apparently.

The whole thing is kind of confusing.

Chloe gives herself a few tries to get back into the swing of things, so to say, lets the tails sail through the air without hitting anything a couple of times. It has the added benefit of making Lucifer twitch every time the flogger wooshes through the air without coming anywhere near him.

"Are you sure you know how to do this?" he asks snippily after the fourth time. She doesn't reply, just lets the flogger hit air once more. "Because, generally speaking, one tries to aim _for_ th--" He breaks off as she delivers a strike on the upper right of his back that should -- and did -- knock the breath out of him. Doesn't let him catch it either as she delivers two more before pausing.

"Like that," he wheezes. She walks around to face him.

"Good to know you're enjoying the warm-up," she says coolly and watches his eyes widen. It's really a lie because she went in hard and fast from the beginning. "But there's worse to come." And _that_ isn't a lie.

He licks his lips. "As-- As it should be," he says. "The guilty need to be punished."

Well, the likelihood of him feeling like he's been suitable punished after only three strikes is rather slim.

She returns to her previous position, lets the flogger fly through the air harmlessly once more -- again he flinches -- then aims another three strikes, this time towards the left.

He gasps for breath the way she's been struggling to breathe earlier.

"You killed Uriel," she fires at him, and he jerks, feet slipping.

"I… I did," he chokes out, catching himself, and she -- hates herself for this, hates him, too, a little, but she -- doesn't wait, aims straight for the edge of the scar on his left.

A beat of silence. Another.

An intake of breath, a low moan.

Her hands are sweaty; she wipes them off on her shirt. "What did you do with the body? And the blade?"

If it's too much like an interrogation… well, she's a detective.

His fingers curl around the rope. "Buried them, both," he whispers. She nods, though he can't see. Considers if she should ask, where. Plausible deniability versus her need to know -- and control -- everything.

She's been hesitating too long, though. 

"This can't be all," he says, voice louder. "Detective." It's a demand. Can't have that, even if he's right and this is not enough to make him feel he's been forgiven. She walks around him, stops at his side, and flips the flogger. Puts the handle under his chin and presses upwards. "You safing out?" she asks. He shakes his head. "Then stop trying to run the show."

And once more into the breach. This time, she thinks, she will not pause for a while, will give him what he desires. She switches hands to shake out her right one, moves her arm and shoulder a little to loosen the muscles. She should have done some warm-up exercises, but too late for that now.

She switches the flogger back to her right, aims for his upper back right away and she can tell he'd expected her to hit air first because he barely twitches before the tails meet his skin.

Twitches all the more after.

It takes her a bit, but she gets into a rhythm, though she tries to be as unpredictable as possible to stop him dropping into any kind of trance. Doesn't just stick to his back and shoulders either as his ass is bared to her as well. Lucifer pants and flinches, shouts at times, but doesn't call a halt.

Once she stops because her right hand is slick from sweat, and it's nerves, not the physical exertions. Lucifers heaving deep, deep breaths, fingers clenched around the rope. He swallows. Twice. "In-insufficient, Detective."

Just how much do you hate yourself? She wonders. It's not that she's never gone this far with a scene, but there was always more build-up to the level of pain she's been inflicting almost from the get-go.

She grabs hold of the flogger again. The next strike is far weaker than the ones before, not on purpose, not exactly. She knows that it's not enough. That all of this is not enough to at least keep him from…

 _... standing in front of the intended target, screaming at a sharpshooter to kill him,_ kill him. And the bullets hit left and right, so close, and she's watching from the upper floor, frozen. 'What is he doing? What is he doing?'

Her grip tightens. She takes aim. Continues.

Chloe's sweating and breathing heavily by the time she stops again, wishing very much that she could flog herself.

Lucifer, too, is gulping deep breaths of air now that he can. Shudders are wrecking his body and his skin is reddened. Bruises would be sure to follow if he were human. There are sounds coming from him which she first mistakes for wheezing, but upon straining she recognizes the words. It's a litany, always the same six words. "I killed him. I'm a monster."

"You did," she says, still staring and thinking that this... This is the point where she'll stop. It's not that his body couldn't take more. Hell, even if he were human, he could take more. And if this were anything but what it is -- a manifestation of the loathing he feels for himself -- she could even take him further, but now? Like this? She can't. "But you're not a monster."

He makes a noise that rips at her heart. Otherworldly, and unbearably full of grief.

It's enough to make the angels weep.

No. It's an angel, weeping.

"Chloe," he begins and stalls.

"What is it?" she prompts. Everything in her hurts.

"I've never killed before."

The world sways for a second while her mind grapples with what she has just heard. 

If there had ever been any doubt before about whether or not Lucifer Morningstar was a good man -- and there hadn't been -- it's gone now.

Up until two days ago, her partner had her beat on the list of sins not committed. She feels a hysterical laugh bubble up in her throat.

And she's sure, so sure, that she feels a lot less guilt than he does.

They should trade places, really.

God, what is she doing?

"Enough," she says. "This is enough."

" _No_ ," he gasps.

" _Yes_ ," she argues. 

"No. No, this is not enough, Detective." His tone is angry and if he weren't still catching his breath, she knows he'd be screaming at her. "I did something unforgivable. I deserve _far worse_ than this."

"No, you don't," she shouts, and it feels like a dam bursting. She walks around him to stare, glare, into his eyes. They're red-rimmed but there are no actual tears, just a burning hatred. For himself. Her safeword is on the tip of her tongue, but she hopes to convince him, like this. "You're a good person, Lucifer Morningstar," she says, wishing she could _actually_ beat the meaning of them into him. Surely, by now he'd believe them. " _You're good._ You--"

His face looks normal one moment, and the next--

The flogger falls from her hand.

She cannot move.

"See," his voice comes from far away, sends ripples into her mind. "I'm a monster."

Her face is wet.

 _His_ face is… 

Chloe blinks and her brain stutters back into something approaching a working condition.

"You're not a monster," she whispers and thinks that she'll be going to hell after all. Once she's punched god in the nuts.

Lucifer is shaking his head. "How can you say that?" he demands, and she reaches out with both hands, has to stand on tiptoe as well, to cup his burned, skinless face.

"Because I know it's true," she says. He opens his mouth, barely extant lips shaping a letter, but no sound comes out, just a low whine. His face melts back into the one she knows and then he's crying, deep gasping sobs, and she keeps ahold of him as if he'd break apart if she didn't. 

"I don't… feel like it, though," he finally wheezes.

"I know," she says, her own voice wet with tears, "but if you weren't a good person, you wouldn't feel as guilty as you do." 

He chokes on a laugh. 

"Lucifer, please," she says, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs, "you're forgiven. I absolve you. Stop beating yourself up." _Please, just stop._

He closes his eyes. "You can't just decide that, Detective," he rasps, agony dripping from every syllable. 

She shakes her head. There must be something she can say to convince him. There must.

"You've made me your judge," she replies at last. And jury, and executioner, but she cannot dwell on that right now. "Didn't you call me a 'disgustingly moral person'?" she asks. It's not something she believes about herself. How can she be? But Lucifer believes it and she hopes that it proves enough. "Doesn't that mean I'm able to make that call?"

He's quiet for so long she becomes aware of the strain from balancing on the balls of her feet, the pain in her right arm. She ignores both. 

Just when she thinks he won't answer, that all of this has been for nothing, that he'll be standing in front of another killer, stepping off another balcony, throwing himself into a river or whatever occurs to him next, and that she won't get to him in time, won't be able to save him -- he opens his eyes. 

"Thank you." 

It's not agreement exactly, and she has severe doubts about whether this is anything more than band-aid, but Chloe finds herself sag in relief. 

"I'll get you down," she says, dropping back to the soles of her feet. He nods, eyes downcast, not really looking at her, and she sets about doing so as smoothly and painlessly as possible.

It's neither, really, but she makes the attempt.

\--

She guides him to her bed, hands him a bottle of water, which he actually drains, then has him lay on the covers face down amid a lot of wincing, which he's trying to hide. Fetches anything that might be needed, more water -- for herself as well as him -- her first aid kit, some snacks including the Kitkats, anything else that she vaguely feels like she'll need. It takes her two trips, because she's doing the mom thing where she packs for all occasions. When Trixie was little, her stroller was usually laden down with all sorts of unnecessary things, _just in case_. On a whim, she plucks Rusty from his spot on the couch, too, plunks him down on the bedside table, next to her charging phone and the water she's put there on her first trip.

She may also be overcompensating -- assuaging her own guilty conscience -- but she tries not to think about that too much right now.

Lucifer has turned his head in the other direction, so she approaches him from the other side, sets the first aid kit down at the foot of the bed, and offers him the chocolate. He stares at it for a moment in puzzlement, then starts to shake his head and stops, gritting his teeth.

"Later. Can't say that anything is stirring my appetite at the moment."

Her lips thin, but she lets the chocolate bars drop down at her side, next to the other snacks, and reminds herself not to lie down and squash them flat. Then she pulls the tube of arnica gel from the kit. Realizes that there is a much simpler way of tending to his bruises. If he'll let her.

"Should I head down the block, so you can heal?" she asks.

"No." He swallows. "Not yet." 

She bites the inside of her cheek. Normally she loves seeing the marks she's caused, but.

Yeah, not this time.

"Is it because you don't want me to leave, or because you want to keep the pain?" she asks.

He pauses, actually appears to think it over. "Both, I think."

"Let me know when that changes, okay?" she replies, then holds the gel in front of his face. "Yes or no?"

Lucifer frowns at the tube. "There is no need to waste this--" He snaps his mouth shut. She doesn't miss that he cut off the rest of the sentence. Has a pretty good idea of what he was going to say, too. _On me._

How he can be so confident -- arrogant, even -- and yet have such a low opinion of himself at other times is beyond her. No, actually, what is beyond her is how he manages to be so confident most of the time when there are so many things trying to wreck him.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," she says. He makes a face but doesn't protest. She uncaps the tube, squeezes a liberal amount onto his upper back. She doesn't so much rub the gel in than spread it around, all across his shoulders and down his back. 

Penance, she thinks, staring at the marks, and is torn between laughing and crying but lets neither show on her face.

She's feeling really tired.

He's watching her, dark eyes wide, expression confused. Disbelieving. Lucifer has a sense of entitlement -- to attention, mostly -- a mile wide, and yet genuine care seems to stump him.

And why wouldn't it, really, she thinks, flashing back on the face that he showed her.

Another tear cleaves its way through her heart.

Damn it all.

She squeezes more gel into her hand, deliberately turns from his gaze, and starts applying the gel to his backside. It's not that she's waiting for him to make a joke or some attempt at flirting exactly, but… Well, anyway, he doesn't take the obvious opportunity.

"You should really try to eat something," she says.

"So should you, Detective," he mumbles. Which is certainly true, she acknowledges even if only mentally. She needs to actually drink something, too. She's pretty thirsty.

A shower wouldn't be a bad idea, either, but she doesn't really want to leave the bed for that long.

Or at all, to be honest.

Maybe she could try some negotiation. "If I eat something, will you?" 

"Oooh, a deal," Lucifer half-croons. Trying to seem enthusiastic, she thinks, but it lacks his usual glee. 

She decides to sweeten the deal, though she isn't really feeling it either. "I'd feed you." 

"Only if you wash your hand first." He's wrinkling his nose. "I'm not particularly enthused about the taste of arnica."

"Speaking from experience?" she asks, half-joking, but he apparently takes the question seriously.

"As a matter of fact, yes." She blinks, trying to figure out when he would have had need of arnica, before remembering how well-stocked his own first-aid kit is. And that he usually prefers topping.

"Okay, then I guess I won't put you through it," she says and pulls back. 

When she returns from giving her hands a thorough scrub -- and not completely succeeding in removing the scent, but it's a lot better than before -- Lucifer's struggled into a position that reminds her of the depiction of the Ancient Romans at their banquets, partially on his side and propped up by her pillow.

She stops at the foot of the bed and just looks at him. Body like a Greek god -- okay, maybe not a perfect comparison -- and face like an angel. Okay, that was definitely worse than the Greek god analogy. Chloe almost groans at herself. But regardless, he is simply beautiful. His hair is curling, no longer slicked back, and she thinks she likes it much better this way. It makes him look… scrumptious.

He's gazing back at her, eyes hooded, and if she weren't so completely exhausted right now, and heart-sick, and if he weren't wincing at every movement… well, if wishes were horses. 

"So," she says as she grabs a bottle of water and sits down on the bed, "bananas or dried raisins?" She drains the glass, puts it down on the floor. Then pushes it under her bed as she remembers the last time she put a glass on the floor. No need to step on it and fall.

His lower lip juts out and he looks at her mournfully. "I'm quite certain there was an offer of chocolate less than 10 minutes ago."

"You're so lucky you can't get cavities," she snorts but snags a Kitkat. She neglects to inform him that they're from Trixie since she wants to avoid him thinking about why Trixie would feel the need to cheer him up.

She unwraps one, separates the two fingers and breaks one in half before hitting a sudden snag because, apparently, her brain has decided that _this_ is the point of no return, the one where their relationship is irrevocably altered. Her pulse speeds up and her hand doesn't want to move.

 _Come on,_ she grumbles at herself, _you've already asked him out on a date. You've had him over your knee. You just spent an incredibly heavy and pain filled scene together. A scene that you didn't--_

"Are you trying to recreate the punishment of Tantalos or--"

"No," she interrupts him quickly, the name ringing a bell somewhere at the back of her mind. She can't quite remember the specifics, has some weird idea of a space colony and human experimentation, and decides that the details probably don't matter right now. The word punishment is enough of a clue, and she can't have Lucifer thinking like this. Not when she's just pulled him away from the proverbial abyss.

"Backing out of our deal then? I--" She shoves the piece of chocolate into his mouth and pops the other half into her own, so she isn't tempted to say anything stupid in reply. What kind of stupid thing she might say, she has no idea, but her brain seems poised to betray her right now. Better safe than sorry.

Lucifer's eyes are glinting. 

Never a good sign. Then again, he seems a little more like himself now. 

_Then_ again, she's feeling off and doesn't know if she can deal with Lucifer's Luciferishness right now.

Chloe breaks the second finger in half and holds the piece in front of his mouth before he's even stopped chewing, remembering too late that he's absolutely the kind of person who'd suck on her fingers.

He doesn't, though. But it's not that he's still feeling so out of sorts, she thinks, as he's very carefully avoiding catching her fingers with either his lips or his teeth. It's more of a… challenge?

A challenge to do what?

Her brain feels slow, and she can't figure it out. Maybe if she got more clues?

She picks a couple raisins next. This time he doesn't try to take the one she proffers from her fingers, just opens his mouth and waits for her to pop it inside. 

Some sort of seduction, of course. It's Lucifer, but what exactly is he expecting her to do or not do?

"Your turn, Detective."

"Hm?"

He flicks his eyes to the raisins, and right. Tit for tat. Chloe eats one herself and then keeps alternating between the two of them and still can't figure out what this is about exactly.

The banana then, and this is so terribly cliché, but okay. 

She peels the banana the wrong way round automatically because Trixie hates the stringy bits with a passion and they're easier to remove that way. She considers, for a moment, simply breaking of a piece and holding it out to him again, but then thinks, fuck it. And, challenge accepted.

Whatever it might be.

She bites off the top a bit slower than what would be considered entirely PG-rated and starts chewing, hoping the blush she feels coming on will helpfully stay away. She extends the banana to Lucifer, who still doesn't offer the slightest bit of innuendo, but who…

… is slowly lowering his mouth and making a face like he's giving a blowjob and is _very_ happy about it.

She breaks, at last. "What?" 

Lucifer bites off the bit in his mouth, chews at a snail's pace before finally swallowing -- nope, not going there -- and raises his eyebrow. "What 'what'?"

Her cheeks are hot, dammit. "You've been staring at me like you're waiting for something," she says. "Or something." Oh yeah, that was very articulate.

His mouth is twitching. "It helped, didn't it?"

"Helped what?" she asks, exasperated. 

"Helped you stop fretting about whatever you were agonizing over earlier."

She stares at him and thinks that this is weirdly sweet and also _totally aggravating_. 

Typically Lucifer, then.

"Ass," she says, and he smirks at her. 

They finish off the banana between them, and then Lucifer slumps down on the pillow and refuses to eat more. She clears her side of the bed, resolving to get up later to clean up the common area, and sits with her back against the headboard, so she won't fall asleep.

She starts carding her fingers through his sweat-slick, curling hair, and he moves until he's almost lying in her lap. His stubble scratches her skin and his breath is warm on her bare leg.

"I shouldn't have asked this of you," he says out of the blue, and if she had expected it, she could have braced for it, but instead she feels herself stiffen. "It's fine," she says quickly and hopes he doesn't notice, but of course, he does.

The silence stretches.

"It seems that I hurt everyone," he says, "and those I hold dearest, the most."

She presses her lips together, says, "I'm a big girl who can make her own decisions."

"Be honest with me, please," he says.

She huffs out a breath. "If I say yes, you'll start beating yourself up about that, and then we're back to square one."

He nuzzles against her. "Well, I can't promise that I won't, but… You are always so insistent on talking things over, Detective. I know it's because, for whatever reason, you care about me." He raises his head, winces at the discomfort. Her hand falls away. "Let me afford you the same kind of… care."

"Lucifer, you--" She breaks off, starts again. "I was angry. I'm not right now," she reassures him. "And I'm really glad that you came to me before you did anything worse to yourself. But. Look, I have a couple of training courses under my belt, but they mostly deal with handling witnesses, next of kin, or suspects. What I'm not is a licensed therapist." 

It's Lucifer's turn to stiffen.

"I can't really _help_ , and… and. Lucifer, doing what you wanted me to do, to the extent you felt necessary, I can't do that," she almost pleads. "Just like you said you can't stand the thought of punishing me in hell." And dammit, her eyes are burning again. 

"You helped." 

She makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "I--" _Really understand why you hate your father._ Not even taking into account his face, being turned into the instrument of someone's punishment, maybe even of someone who you think doesn't really deserve it -- she's heard about too many so-called sins that, in her opinion, hardly merit the name -- it's _painful_.

"You didn't deserve it, and _it wasn't right_ ," she whispers.

"You aren't blaming yourself, are you?" Lucifer asks, sounding confused at the mere notion. She bites down on her tongue so hard it hurts and doesn't say anything.

Lucifer closes his eyes. Finally, he says, "I'm a big boy who can make his own decisions. Stop beating yourself up, Detective."

He didn't just… he did.

Damn him.

"Underhanded," she admonishes, sniffling a little.

"Devil," he replies.

She wants to tell him that she shouldn't have agreed, but he'd counter that he shouldn't have asked. They'd be stuck in this cycle until dawn probably.

"Promise me you'll work on this with Linda," she says instead, and he flinches.

"That might prove difficult." He grimaces. "I… think I broke her."

"Did you--" She gestures at her face, not quite knowing how to put into words the kind of horror he's shown her. She still can't believe that someone would put their own child through that.

"Yes." His gaze loses focus for a moment before he shakes himself. "Everywhere I go, I leave destruction in my wake."

"That's untrue," Chloe tells him. "You saved me, and Trixie. Hell, you've saved me more than once."

Lucifer sighs, but she doesn't let him argue with her about this.

"I'll talk to Linda," she says instead. "She'll come around."

"Not everyone is like you, Detective," Lucifer says. 

"It's going to be okay," she insists, hoping she's not lying, that she can somehow fix _this_ at least. 

Especially since it is kinda Chloe's fault.

He doesn't look convinced, but he gives her something that at least approaches a smile. From about a mile away, but still. "I hope you're right."

So does she.

He lays his head back in her lap and she gives into temptation and starts running her fingers through his hair again. He relaxes into it almost immediately as if she had given him a sign that all was well or as well as it could be. And hell, she thinks, just once she wants to have him here, like this, after a lighthearted, fun scene. No guilt, no self-recrimination, no truths delivered by goddesses that hurt worse than any flogger. No murdered siblings.

They were so close, too, last week.

"I still owe you a date," she says quietly.

"I believe it is I who owes you one, Detective." He pauses. "We would have had it if not for… _my_ family."

She almost groans. Perhaps she should not have brought it up or brought it up differently. "Don't you dare," she admonishes, but gently. "No more guilty feelings." She takes her hand away for a moment and reaches past him to where Trixie's stuffed dog is still keeping watch on the bedside table. Plunks him down right in front of Lucifer's face. "Rusty agrees."

As a diversionary tactic it's downright terrible. Lucifer seems to be of the same opinion.

"Rusty?" he demands as he's staring at it cross-eyed.

"I told Trixie that you were unhappy," Chloe says, feeling her face heat in embarrassment. "She's lending him to you until you feel better."

He rolls his eyes up to meet hers, opens his mouth, then closes it again. Finally shakes his head and sighs.

"Express to her my gratitude, will you?" His tone is oddly formal.

"I will," she answers with a lot more gravity than feels warranted. Lucifer starts poking the dog with his index finger, wrinkling his nose. It's entirely too cute and she wishes she had a camera at hand.

A far better distraction suddenly occurs to her. "Maybe I should make you fetch."

He blinks at her and then his thoughts catch up. "Ah, no. I'm not into puppy play. As the pup."

"Would you say it's a limit?" she asks, though she's pretty sure it's not.

"Noo," he says slowly. His cheeks are turning just the faintest blush of red. And ooh. _Oooh._ Chloe feels something wicked stir inside of her, lets her face and smile reflect it. 

"Detective," he whines, and she begins to chuckle. "It's joke, right?" he asks, and she laughs harder. "Detective?"

She never gives him an answer that night.


End file.
